


Love Letters: Brenda's Letters

by grrriliketigers



Series: Love Letters [2]
Category: Major Crimes (TV), The Closer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29846751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grrriliketigers/pseuds/grrriliketigers
Summary: The prequel to Love Letters (now Love Letters: Sharon's Letters) in which Sharon receives and reacts to four letters from Brenda.
Relationships: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Sharon Raydor
Series: Love Letters [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194197
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As alluded to by Sharon in the previous work, these letters are a bit raunchier.

If throwing oneself into their work in order to avoid processing challenging events and coming to terms with complex feelings was an Olympic sport, Sharon Catherine Raydor would have enough gold medals to fill a mansion. And if the Major Crimes team had noticed that she’d been going harder at their cases and if Rusty had noticed that she’d been bringing more work home and spending more time on her computer on the weekends, no one had said anything. 

It had begun to feel like the new normal and Sharon had almost successfully managed to repress what she’d been trying to forget. This sense of blissful ignorance had just about lulled her into a false sense of security when Rusty set the stack of mail on the corner of her desk.

“I’m going to get ready and go out with some friends, is that okay?” He asked. 

Sharon smiled and cupped his cheek. “Of course, sweetheart.” 

“Thanks, mom.” Rusty kissed the top of her head before disappearing down the hallway. 

She sipped her tea and grimaced at the cold liquid which had gone bitter from oversteeping. She scooped up the pile of mail on the way to the kitchen. She dumped out the tea and put the kettle on the burner to brew another pot. 

Sharon flipped through the mail: Planned Parenthood’s annual mailing asking her to renew her subscription, the newsletter from St. Mary’s, Geico offering to save her fifteen percent or more in fifteen minutes and she stopped in her tracks when she saw the hand addressed envelope. 

The other mail fell from her hands as she stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the long white envelope, her name written in hasty bubbly letters that she would know anywhere. Her heart pounded as she stared down at it. 

“Mom!” Rusty said pointedly as he took the kettle off the stove and set it on a cool burner. “Mom?”

She turned to him, the spell momentarily broken. She blinked away the haze and looked at the kettle and her mouth opened in surprise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear it.” 

“You didn’t hear it?” Rusty’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “It was whistling for almost two minutes. I heard it in my room.” 

She shrugged helplessly. “I was distracted.” 

“I was worried, I thought something had happened to you.” He admitted quietly. “And I don’t exactly feel like I was wrong.” 

Rusty bent down and picked up the envelopes she’d dropped and set them on the counter. “Are you okay? What’s going on?” 

Sharon gave him the most sincere smile she was able to muster. “I think I’ve just been working too hard recently.” And for a moment, she’d almost convinced herself that there was such an innocent explanation. She’d been working harder recently because she was so dedicated to her job and nothing else had happened that she was trying to ignore. 

He studied her for a few long moments, the gears turning and trying to decide if he was going to push it further or if he was going to accept this explanation. She had been working her ass off and he had noticed. He’d actually used it as a kick in the ass to study and research harder; he’d set up a night out with friends because he was starting to burn out and there was some comfort in the idea that Sharon was burning out a bit too. 

“Okay. Why don’t you take it easy tonight? Like, take a bath or whatever and just zone out. Open a nice bottle of wine or something.” 

Sharon smiled adoringly at him. She nodded acquiescently, “I will.” 

“Okay,” he said again, gripping the strap of his backpack, still considering his options. 

“Have fun with your friends.” Sharon said, attempting to stop him before he suggested that he should stay home tonight. The last thing she wanted was for her problems to become his problems and he deserved a night out. 

“I will.” He nodded. He then added playfully. “Try not to burn the place down.” 

She smiled, glad that his anxiety had already lessened to where he was able to make a joke about it. “If you insist.” 

Sharon waited in the kitchen until she heard the front door close behind him and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and set the envelope on the counter; she grabbed the open bottle of Chardonnay and tugged out the cork. When she retrieved a glass from the cupboard, her hand shook as she set it down on the marble. 

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding again. She carefully poured the wine into the glass so that her shaking grip wouldn’t cause a spill. 

Full wine glass sitting in front of her on the counter, she still barely moved as she stared at the envelope. Without a screaming kettle and a worried son to interrupt her, she didn’t know how long she’d spent staring at the envelope unmoving this time. 

She lifted the envelope and turned it over, slipping her finger under the flap and tore it open with an assuredness that came from some unknown place inside herself. The envelope fell away as she held up the cream colored stationary, From the Desk of Brenda Leigh Johnson written in script font at the top, and began reading.

_Dear Sharon,_


	2. Chapter 2

Sharon had already read it through twice before she picked up her wine and brought the shaking glass to her lips and took a big swig, walking over to the couch and sitting down and reading it for a third time. 

_Dear Sharon,_

_I know that I said I wasn’t going to contact you again and I promise that I really meant it when I said it. I know that I made you uncomfortable when I kissed you and I know that my confession about my feelings didn’t help. I never meant to make you uncomfortable because I know how bad it feels when someone does that, especially when it’s overstepping like that. I thought you were feeling the same things that I was feeling and that doesn’t make it okay but that was why I thought you would be open to the kiss._

_I know that you said you didn’t want to talk about it and I’m not asking you to. I just really like you and care about you and I miss you so badly. I am happy to be your friend, Sharon Raydor. I didn’t want you to think that I lost all interest in you just because our relationship wasn’t going to be physical. I can’t deny that I had hoped for that but that’s not your only worth. I want you in my life, no matter what that means._

_In the spirit of full transparency - that’s how you know how special you are to me! haha - I wanted you to know that I never intended to like you as much as I do. Our relationship was very difficult when we first met and I tried to hold onto that animosity because you seemed like this ridiculously pristine figure, this shiny example of righteousness and it drove me crazy. Over time as I got to know you for the sweet, goofy, loyal, powerhouse that you are and your ‘imperfections’ made you irresistable to me. I wanted to be around you all the time. I wanted your attention. I wanted you to like me… and I really loved being your friend. Anyone who counts you as a friend is so incredibly lucky to have you in their life. I didn’t even realize for a long time that my feelings for you were romantic, I just wanted you so badly that it clouded my judgment. And because of that clouded judgment… I jeopardized what was a really beautiful and special friendship._

_I would really like it if we could resume our friendship because you’re the best friend I’ve had as far back as I can remember and my life isn’t as bright without you in it. If there are any other questions you have for me, I can try to answer them. If you want nothing more to do with me, that’s okay too and you can throw this letter in the trash._

_Hope to hear from you soon._

_Brenda_

Sharon set the letter down on the coffee table and knocked back the rest of the wine. The words were swirling around in her head and each reading had brought their last encounter back with increasingly visceral detail. 

Despite having spent the last three months trying to forget, she suddenly could feel Brenda’s hand on the heated skin of her cheek, could see Brenda’s big brown eyes glinting with earnestness and question. She could feel her heart pounding, her mouth go dry, feeling like a schoolgirl about to experience her first kiss all over again. When Brenda’s lips had touched hers an all-encompassing warmth had spread over her entire body and the feeling had filled her with guilt and before she could process it, she’d put her hands on Brenda’s shoulders and pushed her away with a force she hadn’t intended. 

The hurt in Brenda’s eyes had broken her heart and she wanted to make it better and take away that pain. She knew Brenda cared for her and she cared for Brenda too, deeply, but she didn’t have the words to fix it and didn’t have access to the explanation even in her own mind. So she had done the thing that she’d done every other time the words had failed her so spectacularly, every other time her own mind had put up a giant and impenetrable wall in front of those feelings, she stood up and walked away.

She dreaded the thought of accidentally running into Brenda. She was so thoroughly mortified by her own actions that she felt physically ill at the thought of seeing Brenda again and seeing that look in her eyes and knowing that she’d laid hands on her. When she’d heard from Andrea that Brenda had moved back east she experienced a simultaneous wave of relief but also a deep melancholy. 

The only thing to do was to repair the cracks in the wall and make herself so busy, work herself to exhaustion, eliminate as much free time as humanly possibly, and never think about the perfection of Brenda’s lips on her own. 

Sharon’s stomach growled impatiently and she was lifted from her haze again and this time she noticed that the sun had set. She looked at her watch and chastized herself for her foolishness. 

“You are _not_ a schoolgirl anymore.” Sharon snapped, standing defiantly, gathering the letter and crumpling it with both hands and dropped it in the small trashcan next to her desk.


	3. Chapter 3

Sharon walked by the desk trash can repeatedly over the next couple of days, making detours to that part of the living room even when there was nothing she needed from over there. She would look down into the little wicker receptacle, which she almost never used anyway, and would peer in at the lone item. Her heart rate would quicken as she looked at it and she would be reminded of the looks in Brenda’s eyes. 

She would remember the breathtaking look of adoration and desire, her big chocolate eyes fixing her to the spot and maybe she had nodded a little when those eyes had posed the question. Maybe, for just the briefest moment, a glimmer of light had shone through a crack in the wall and she had consented to the kiss. Sharon always does her best not to dwell on that thought because the crack is way up at the top where it can’t be reached to be patched and the only thing to do was to distract herself with something else. At the bottom of the wall, admittedly an increasingly growing section, there was discoloration and ugly stains and other things that Sharon didn’t want to look at either. The bottom of the wall didn’t conjure up very vivid memories anymore but what it did thrust upon her were feelings of despair, shame, and loneliness. 

The one memory that the wall would not let die was the look on Brenda’s face after she’d pushed her away. The memory of the pain that she had caused the other woman was almost unbearable and yet it played over and over in her mind, taking up more and more space when Sharon didn’t fill it with other distractions. This memory was growing up the wall like an ivy, bright and green and consuming every inch it touched. This was the memory that was going to choke her, the only one that thrived on this side of the wall. 

Brenda Leigh Johnson’s beautiful, bright eyes were always there, always staring at her. First with full and total acceptance and then with hurt and betrayal. Those eyes were always there and it was only when she was occupied fully that she could ignore them. 

And then that damned letter! Sharon felt herself get angry again. She had almost convinced herself that such a level of acceptance and adoration was not possible and that she had blown it completely out of proportion and then there she was _again_ , offering that temptation, the ivy growing every second of every day. What was so wrong with her wall? Walls might cast shadows but they were protective, they were safe, they kept things in their place. What right did Brenda have to threaten the stability of her wall? 

Sharon would walk away again, putting the letter away but never far from the forefront of her mind and later it would call her back. For now, she was going to work and she would force those eyes back into the recesses of her mind where they couldn’t challenge her or change her. 

**

Sharon entered the apartment that evening exhausted but exhilarated. She had felt like her old self when a very challenging case had presented itself and she thought of nothing else all day. She’d even, she realized on her drive home, forgotten to have lunch. 

The smells of Rusty’s latest culinary feat greeted her as soon as she opened the door. “Rusty!” She gushed as she closed the door behind her, kicking her shoes off and grabbing her Uggs. “That smells heavenly!” 

He laughed, “it’ll be ready in ten.”

“You’re a saint.” She put her keys in the bowl and, without even realizing it, she made a bee line for the desk so that she could once again peer down into the trashcan. 

When she arrived she drew in a gasp. 

“You okay?” Rusty called, furrowing his brow. 

She pointed into the trash can. “There was a, um, a paper in the trashcan next to my desk…” 

“It’s Wednesday.” He said simply. When she looked at him, stricken, not seeming to understand the significance of the day of the week, he added, “it’s the day I take the trash out.” 

“So, it’s gone?” She frowned. 

“Yes, Sharon, I put it down the trash chute like I do every Wednesday.” 

“Oh my god.” She said under her breath. She felt the color drain from her face and she felt lightheaded as she sank down, leaning against the desk. Her heart pounded in her ears. 

“Okay, seriously, Sharon.” Rusty rushed over to her. “You’re, like, working yourself to death. You need to take a break or you need to see a doctor. You’re really scaring me.” 

“I’m fine.” She insisted even as she allowed Rusty to guide her to the couch. “Really, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.” 

“Do I need to get Ricky and Emily involved in this?”

“ _No._ ” She snapped defensively and Rusty recoiled and she felt tears spring to her eyes. “Please don’t look at me like that…” she whispered. 

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her head against his chest. “Please go see someone. I’ve lost so much in my life and I refuse to lose _you_.” He felt tears in his own eyes, “Sharon, this is the only real home I’ve ever known. And when I say home, I don’t mean this apartment. I mean _you_. You make me feel safe and loved - like really, unconditionally loved. I had no idea how much I needed that until I met you and I love you too much to just sit by and let you go through something alone.” 

She held onto him more tightly as she felt a sob well up and she was unable to hold the tears back any longer. She had always felt so alone and untethered and hearing Rusty’s confession that she herself was the remedy for that same feeling in him overwhelmed her. 

The two of them ate their dinner in silence, each relieved and made sheepish by their words and actions. They brought the plates int the kitchen and Sharon told Rusty that she would do the dishes. 

He hesitated for a moment and she smiled reassuringly. “I know it seemed very scary but it was… it was a panic attack.” 

“A panic attack?” His eyebrows went up. 

“Yes, I get them sometimes.” She admitted. “They sometimes seem like heart attacks because the symptoms are an increased heartrate, lightheadedness, ashen complexion, breathlessness…“

“So, that’s something that’s been diagnosed? For real?”

“Yes, ‘for real.’” Sharon nodded, “I’ve seen a doctor about it. That’s why I mostly drink tea instead of coffee; caffeine can make it worse.” 

“Do you take anything for it? Like medications?” 

“No, I don’t.” She shook her head. “I have in the past but the anxiety medications they tried had adverse effects on me and I didn’t want to keep going down the list because they made me feel worse than just occasionally having panic attacks.” 

“Do you know what triggers them?” 

She did. Of course she did. “I… put a lot of… pressure on myself to… be a certain way.” 

“Well…” Rusty paused to consider this information. “If they’re getting worse… or more frequent anyway, maybe it’s time to do something different. Like, maybe you should take some time off or at least take on a little less at work.” 

She didn’t know how to tell Rusty that it was the work that kept the panic attacks at bay without explaining the entirety of the situation. And, for that matter, in order to explain the current situation, she’d probably have to go all the way back to the first panic attack at St. Nicholas’s when Sister James was teaching the fifth grade class how to do the waltz and, due to a different number of girls and boys, Sharon was paired with Margaret Adams. Margaret’s arm encircled her waist and took her hand, their form was pitiful and their small hands were sweaty, most of the class was giggling but Sharon couldn’t hear anything. Sharon’s heart was pounding in her ears, her chest heaved and she knew that the only thing keeping her upright was Margaret and Newton’s first law of motion as Sister James explained the steps. As soon as Sister James called for the class to stop dancing, most of the kids summarily ignoring the instructions, Sharon went down. The next thing she remembered, she was in the nurse’s office with a cold, clammy washcloth over her forehead. She tried to sit up and the nurse pushed her back down and made her lie there for the rest of the class period. 

How could Sharon tell Rusty that she was not only having panic attacks but that she was having _gay panic_ attacks? This sweet boy who had come out to her himself not long ago, how could he hear that and not internalize it? How could she tell him that she had nothing but unconditional acceptance for him but wasn’t able to extend herself the same courtesy? 

She couldn’t say any of that to him just yet; she couldn’t say these things to herself, how could she ask Rusty to hold that weight too? The wall was there to protect her and this time the wall was protecting Rusty. 

She nodded, “I’ll take it easier. I promise.” 

He gave her another hug. It was long and needful, a child needing the comforting embrace of his mother, and she held onto him fiercely. Her heart warmed as she held onto him; she was so blessed to have this young man in her life and it didn’t escape her that their relationship completed missing pieces in each other so perfectly that Sharon couldn’t help but assume divine intervention.

**Author's Note:**

> Beaches13, Erica2401, and S♥B all requested more and after a lot of thought, this is what I've come up with, hope y'all enjoy!


End file.
